He Locked Me Out Now He’s Begging Me Back Chapter 44
My father nodded. “Then do it your way.”
On Saturday, Marisol brought a few coworkers over to celebrate the move.
The quiet living room filled quickly with laughter. One person brought an espresso machine. Another carried in a fiddle-leaf fig nearly as tall as I was. Marisol came last, holding a cake and making me open the box in front of everyone.
On the white frosting, written in blue letters, were the words:
*Welcome Home, Claire.*
I stared at the words for two seconds.
Once, I had wanted someone to welcome me home that way. But back then, *home* had meant compromise, self-erasure, and access that could be taken away at any time.
This time, no one was assigning me a bedroom. No one was asking whose bed should go to whom. No one was invoking family to demand proof of my kindness.
After everyone left, my mother bent down to gather the wrapping paper from the table.
“Sit down, I’ll take care of it,” she said.
I took the bag from her hands.
“I can do it myself.”
She blinked, then smiled and let go.
“You’re right. It’s your home. You decide.”
After I saw my parents out, I washed the last cake plate and turned off the lights in the living room.
When I passed the second bedroom, I stopped and pushed the door open.
The bookshelf, the desk, the chair—everything sat exactly where I had chosen to put it. Beyond the window was the quiet city at night, and in the glass, I could see only my own reflection.
No child’s bed.
No closet space reserved for a future partner.
No one waiting to move me into another room.
I walked in and sat down in my own chair.
This room belonged only to me now.